


Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt

by Youletmeknow



Series: Stories from Justice University [2]
Category: Justice League - All Media Types, Teen Titans (Animated Series), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2020-07-22 20:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19996999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youletmeknow/pseuds/Youletmeknow
Summary: Artemis Crock has a week and a half at Justice University while her archery team is here to compete. She's just looking for a successful one-night stand. And then she meets Wally West.She's open to a few more nights.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was finishing up the last chapter of my multific, "Jason and the Words That Burn," when I tripped and accidently wrote this fic instead.
> 
> This is a spin-off series to "Words That Burn," but it works as a stand-alone too.
> 
> I dedicate the whole thing to reader, Exaggerated Memories, who's given me really nice comments on FF and wanted to see stories revolving my other characters. Your words made me smile, and I'm really grateful to have a reader like you.
> 
> NOTE: This is a college AU that's an amalgamation between Teen Titans (2003) and Young Justice (2011–) Dick Grayson is a morphed character between the two shows. Then there's the four other Titans (Kory, Rae, Gar, Vic) and the Young Justice ensemble.

...

...

It doesn't matter that it's a new cellphone and she hasn't transferred over her list of contacts yet, because Artemis knows his number by heart.

_McGinnis on Ramapo Ave. Five min away from your campus. Can you make it?_

Artemis realizes she's hit the bottom of the glass and orders herself another round of scotch. Jump's a college town, no doubt. She can tell by the demographics the menu is catering to: variations of loaded fries, loaded nachos, loaded _anything,_ really, as long as it promises heaps of salt and fatty carbs—food for the shitfaced gods. The bartender's even opened an untouched bottle of Lagavulin just for her, because college kids don't usually go for the Lagavulin, not at $18 a glass. Jesus, seven years in Gotham City's snobbiest prep school really did a number on refining her tastes. Bud Light who? Corona what now?

Eager glances from guys in this joint itch like ferocious little mosquito bites and she swears she can feel their pheromones sticking to her skin. The asshole of the hour entitles himself to a seat next to her and drops an ill-conceived line while attempting a... is that a smolder? He's recounting to her his love of animals and a time he saved a bird with a broken wing or some humble brag piece of crap that probably never happened and yadda yadda yadda… Artemis treats herself to a generous glug of the scotch before shutting him down with a string of dismissive words. He leaves, muttering something under his breath: _stupid bitch, you were asking for it._

Asshole of the hour is wrong. Artemis wasn't asking for it. At least not yet. The heavy makeup and exposed skin is not an idle decision though, because nothing despises Artemis more than a waste of a night and she needs a plan B arranged in case he doesn't show up. Artemis knows how to pivot; she's prepared to explore her other options.

Next up to bat seems to be the redhead on the other side of the bar who can't stop staring. He's tall, Artemis thinks, and the green eyes _would_ make him swoon-worthy if it wasn't for that stupid, _wondrous_ look on his face. He seems like the type to be a pushover around a pretty girl, and Artemis isn't interested in the mess that usually comes in the morning with a pushover.

The phone finally buzzes alive in her hand: _Who's this?_

Artemis retypes her first message, but this time in french, and sends it. She does it again in Mandarin, and then in Russian. The last one is her best attempt at Romani, because she knows it'll get a laugh out of him, wherever he is.

Pushover makes his way to her side of the bar and leans his elbows back against the counter, pretending to be focused on the change in music. It's a truly dreadful attempt to look suave on his part, but Artemis can't decide if she finds it pathetic or endearing.

She gets a text back.

_\- lol. Cute. New number, I'm guessing?_

_\- [peace sign emoji]_

_\- What are you doing here?_

_\- I'm with the GCU Archery_ _team. We're competing against your school tomorrow_ _morning._

Artemis looks up from her phone. He's just staring again.

"Wally."

"Artemis."

"Like the goddess of the hunt?"

"Like the goddess of virginity."

The deflect shuts him up for the time being, but he doesn't look offended. Most guys react pretty poorly to quips like that, so Artemis is impressed. Her phone buzzes again: _I'm busy tonight with an internship thing. Can I come to your competition instead?_

Artemis swallows the taste of disappointment with a bit of Lagavulin and texts him the appropriate information.

Wally tries again. "I like your voice. It's kind of raspy. It's how I imagine the feeling of bourbon going down your throat sounds like."

Damn, he nails the pickup line with perfect cadence, and she's mentally giving him credits for originality.

She gets another text: _btw, I'm assuming you're not about to head back to the hotel so soon. You're gonna have to insist on the condom, OK? Justice guys are dogs._

_…_

…

Artemis wakes up to the bed empty and there's a relentless sizzling sound coming from outside the room. The smell of bacon and warm syrup hits her all at once. Shit. Son of a bitch made her breakfast.

She picks up a crewneck sweater— _Justice University_ in collegiate bold print ironed into the front—from the floor and takes a sniff, relieved at its detergent-y smell, and pulls it over herself before walking out of the bedroom.

He's in his boxers with a spatula in his hand, staring keenly at the pancakes on the griddle as if they have a secret. He slides the spatula under one of the pancakes and checks the underside. Already at the table is a breakfast spread of an ambitious 1960's housewife: bacon and scrambled eggs and cut up fruit and toast. This kid is unbelievable.

Artemis clears her throat.

He's like a green-eyed deer in headlights. "Oh, hi! Good morning! I didn't know what you like to eat, but I didn't want to wake you, so I kinda just covered all the bases. And if it's vegan, or like, gluten-free, I've got a breakfast shake in the fridge that—"

"Walter, right?"

"Uh, yeah, kinda! Wallace, actually, but my friends call me Wally."

"This is really nice of you, Wally. Thank you. But I can't eat right now. I don't do breakfast before a competition. I'm sorry, it's like, an athlete superstition of mine.

"Oh, I get it. I, uh, I only run in orange shoes."

"I'm gonna go."

"Wait, do you wanna shower here?"

"It's fine, I just need to know where my dress is."

Wally runs his hand through his bedhead. "Right! I moved it to the couch over there. It was on the kitchen table, since—ya know—we, uh…"

He's an absolute dweeb, Artemis thinks, as she moves to the couch and picks up the dress. This is the same guy who interrupted their makeout session _mid-grind,_ mind you _,_ to run into the bathroom and emerge with an unopened pack of toothbrushes. "Sorry. Just in case I forget to give you one later. Do you prefer a specific color?"

The amount of recovery time it took to get back into the foreplay after that was just...

Artemis inspects her dress—which looks tinier in the creeping daylight—and mutters dryly, "Yep. Definitely not looking forward to the walk of shame in this number."

"You can wear that crewneck if you want."

"I wouldn't know how to get it back to you."

 _Shit_ , Artemis thinks. _Shit, shit, shit. Never give the guy an excuse to see you again._

"It's okay," is all Wally says. "You can keep it."

…

…

"Oh my god. Who is _that_?"

Artemis pauses from her stretches, and her eyes follow to where her teammates are pointing. Dick Grayson, clad in perfectly pressed chinos and a navy cardigan, emerges out of the vomitorium above them and takes a seat. The blueness of his eyes can be seen from four benches up, and they're piercing right through her.

Artemis gives him a subtle wave.

The bastard's just as good-looking as ever, and he knows it too, because he throws down a cocky grin and a sergeant salute like a precocious douchebag. It does the job, though; Dick Grayson's smile is award-winning.

"Did you see that, Jen? I think he's smiling at you!"

Artemis continues with her stretching, turning away so no one can see that she's grinning from ear to ear.

…

…

"Artemis Bryn Crock. First Division. Gotham City University."

The world kindly turns off.

She'd swear to you, if you asked her, that nothing goes on in her brain the second she steps up to the line. It's all just a circuit of sensations to Artemis, executed over and over again without any semblance of thought. It's _visceral_. It's the way she can view the world through the tips of her fingers. The feeling of her muscles sorting themselves out as she draws the bow. It's the breath that stills her whole body like steel. Two eyes open. A target ready to swallow her arrow whole.

The fletching leaves her fingers with a satisfying _thwip!_ Silence always come first, and then there's the roaring of the crowd.

Justice University never stood a chance.

…

…

Dick Grayson takes the equipment bag from her hands and slings it over his shoulder. "You're super hot sometimes, you know that? I forgot what it was like to watch you shoot."

"I expected flowers," Artemis says, not caring at all that she's blushing.

"Expect lunch. My treat."

"Um. I just _murdered_ that competition. The flowers are non-negotiable, Grayson."

"I'll throw in the flowers if you give me the number of that redhead on your team."

"Justice guys are what again?"

The smile burns on his face, and Artemis swears she's just a different life away from completely falling in love with him right there.

…

...

Artemis insists on one of the tables outside of the bistro because she's head over heels with this California breeze. January's still parka season back in Gotham, and Artemis has always found sweater weather to be overrated. Dick Grayson orders their usual lunch favorites and hands the menus back to the waitress with some lame dad joke that gets her to giggle profusely. She walks away blushing. It's like he can't control himself.

"Jesus, Dick. Turn it down to like… a seven."

Grayson just smirks and tears off a piece of bread from the table. "So how long are you here for?"

"A week and a half. We fly back on a Wednesday."

"What're your plans while you're here?"

Artemis shrugs and fiddles with the straw of her drink, watching intently as the ice cubes clink together. "Nothing planned, really. Was thinking maybe some museums. You've always said Jump City has a really good nightlife. And I heard Justice parties are no joke, so..."

"Don't bullshit me, Artemis."

Artemis looks up to see Grayson's knowing stare. She completely forgot about his ability to go from incorrigible flirt to bad cop in a single breath.

"Don't bullshit me," he says again. "My internship is at the Jump prison. I saw his name on the transfer list."

Dick Grayson was always meant to be a detective. Artemis remembers when Dick got his driver's license at 17 and offered free chauffeuring services to her and Babs. It seemed like an awesome idea until they realized that in order to get anywhere they had to put up with Dick blasting true-crime podcasts in the car. He'd even verbalize his own theories and attempt to solve the mystery before the end of the episode like the pretentious ass he was. Babs' first time was in Grayson's Aston Martin, with her on top, and the radio blasting, "— _what the killer didn't know was that the corpse's sphincter muscles loosened to leave a smear of feces as it was being dragged across the house_..." Artemis never lets Babs live it down.

The intensity of his eyes cut into Artemis, and she caves. "So... when is he allowed visitors?"

Dick shakes his head in disapproval. "Artemis, _no_. Terrible idea. What are you looking to get from seeing him again?"

"I just have questions, Dick."

"There are no answers to your questions, Artemis, and answerless questions will kill you if you fixate on them. Move on." Grayson blows a heavy breath of frustration at the table and leans in to take her hand. "Listen. I don't want to lose you to this, okay?"

"I don't know if I can stay away from him. It just seems like a waste of an opportunity if I don't visit."

"Then hang out with me while you're here. My friends and I have a lot going on this week and I'd love if they got to know you."

The pattering sounds of the college track team grow louder as they make their way down the sidewalk. They're one big amorphous blur of Justice University colors: variants of blues and whites and yellows. Dick regards one of the runners who sidesteps a bit to give Dick a slap at the shoulder and a breathless _'sup_ before jogging away. Artemis almost misses it, until the runner does a double take to look at her, and then a triple take, before getting lost in the crowd.

His orange sneakers stick out like a sore thumb.

…

…


	2. Chapter 2

...

...

She steps up to the line for the second day of the competition, and as always, a euphoric blankness washes over her; nothing else exists save for a single, colorful thought. They usually keep Artemis for last if they can help it. She's the tiebreaker of the team when they're at their very worst. But at their very best, she's the pièce de résistance, the cheeky victory lap, the kick to the guts while the other team's down. It's one of those moves that gets the crowds pulled to the edges of their seats. Apparently there's a lot of theatrics when it comes to archery.

Artemis draws the bow.

"What's your secret?" Teammates would always ask her.

"No secret," Artemis would always say.

The arrow flies straight into the center with a soft _thunk_.

Any talk about destiny bores the crap out of her, but it's not lost on her that she's named after an actual archer. Maybe that's what Oliver Queen was thinking about when he met her those many years ago, before he decided to sign some guardianship papers, enroll her into the best school on the east coast of the country, and put a bow and arrow in her hands. Whatever the reason, it changed her forever.

Because Oliver Queen swooped into her life one day and gave her a way out, and she hasn't looked back since.

Until now.

…

…

Artemis drops from the pull-up rack that hangs on the frame of the door and finishes off her circuit with a 60 second plank, while Dick Grayson lies on his bed, ankles resting on top of the headboard as he balances a rugged-looking laptop precariously on his stomach. Artemis notices the sticker on it—in large, faded, yellow words: _Jump City Prison_. "They just let you do the work from home like that?"

"Some of it, yeah. Was in the hospital for, like... a month last year? Sure as hell wasn't gonna let someone steal my internship." Grayson tilts his head over to look at Artemis with a cheeky grin. "Did I mention I was shot in the head?"

"Oh my god, Dick. Enough."

Dick's phone vibrates beside him for the thousandth time, and when he picks it up, that stupid lovesick smile she knows so well spreads across his face. Artemis looks away. How many years has she been forced to deal with a young Dick Grayson in love? Every lunch period at GC Prep was a front row seat to the Dick & Babs Show, and Artemis had endured them all for her entire high school career that it almost made her feel like part of the relationship. Maybe it was just a solid case of Stockholm Syndrome, but seeing that smile now, three years later and thousands of miles away from Gotham—knowing that it's not Babs on the other side of that text—makes Artemis feel uneasy.

Dick checks his watch. "You sure you'll be okay here by yourself? I can sneak you into lecture hall."

Artemis comes up onto her knees from the plank. "Will I be okay here? In the penthouse apartment of a Bruce Wayne condominium? Like, I think I'll live."

Grayson flies out of bed and pulls his shirt off as he opens his closet. "I'm out by 5, and then I'm showing my face at the prison for a bit. I'll meet you at Nicolo's Deli by the west gate of the campus around 6. It's right next to the gas station. You'll see some of my friends for the first time and I can finally introduce you to—"

Dick shrugs on a sweater and looks back at Artemis, only to see the expression on her face, and darkens. "Come on, Arty."

"Not interested."

"She's cool. Babs is cool with it too."

Artemis scoffs. Bullshit. Has Dick really been away from them for that long to forget that Babs isn't the type to wear her heart on her sleeve? Barbara Gordon had a nifty talent for hiding her pain behind a screen so thick that only Artemis and Dick could see through it. Apparently, these days, it's just Artemis. "I'll just do dinner with the team."

Dick closes the closet door. "Artemis, she means a lot to me."

As if Artemis doesn't know that. She's spent the whole time here ignoring the extra toothbrush in the bathroom, or the arrangement of pictures taped haphazardly around his desk that she refuses to get a good look at.

"Just think about it," Dick says, but the tone has an edge to it. Artemis watches closely as Dick places the Jump Prison laptop into his drawer, and soon they're both in the kitchen and he's slipping his shoes on, a leather bag slung over his shoulder and the keys of the Ferrari in his hand.

"Don't invite any guys over while I'm gone. But girls are totally welcome. Go nuts, know what I'm saying?"

"Don't be gross, Grayson."

He clicks his tongue and winks at her. And then he's gone.

Artemis waits, quiet, half expecting for Dick to return all of a sudden after having forgotten an assignment or a cellphone or anything at all that could get her caught red-handed.

He doesn't.

She walks back to his room and pulls the Prison's laptop out of the drawer and sets it onto the desk, her brain whirring like an overheated computer. She uses her phone as a flashlight to shine down on the keyboard for any discerning fingerprints and runs through some logistics in her head. He's a guy, she thinks, and it's the universal guy rule to use birth dates for his password. It's just too easy. All she needs to see is the sheen of the 'Z' and 'K' keys and suddenly she's in his head.

After a few iterations, she types in _Zitka*1001_ , and the database of Jump City's Prison welcomes her in with open arms.

The knock on the door frightens the crap out of her. "Jesus Christ!"

"Yo. Let me in, dude."

Artemis quickly closes the laptop and slips it back into the drawer before running to the kitchen, low-key panicking, shrugging to herself with absolutely no idea how to proceed. "Uh… Dick's not here," she ends up shouting through the door. "You just missed him."

"Kory? Let me in."

" _Not_ Kory."

There's a beat of silence, and then, "Well, I just need to drop something off."

He's not getting the message, and Artemis doesn't really have the patience for this stuff, especially when she's this full of nerves, so she snaps. "Listen, kid. I have no idea who you are but I'm trying to tell you he's not around. So if you're not gonna take me on good faith and leave, why don't you go ahead and shove whatever you have to drop off right up your—"

"Artemis?"

Artemis freezes for a bit before swinging the door open and coming face to face with familiar green eyes. A name registers in her mind. "Wally?"

Wally smiles. "I knew your voice sounded familiar."

Wally steps around her into the apartment with an air of familiarity and habit, and just like that, he makes himself at home and starts unloading some tupperware from his eco bag onto the kitchen island.

Artemis—surprised, annoyed, frustrated, and absolutely confused— moves opposite him and sits herself onto one of the island stools, desperately mulling over any ideas that could get him out of the apartment without seeming suspicious. "Uh, so… Dick, he's not..."

"Yeah, I just realized. I forgot he has ethics this hour, but my mom flew into town for a work conference and dropped off some food, and she likes to make extra because of this one time, when Dick visited Central City, he had this look on his face when he discovered that she makes the best baked ziti in the world, and it's now a running joke in the family." Wally's doing that half chuckling thing when he talks as he balances the containers into a precarious tower. He then hesitates on what he's about to say next. "I saw you two together at Mezza's Bistro the other day. How do you know each other?"

"We're Gotham Prep kids."

"Oh, okay, interesting!"

She knows it's just that he's nervous, but his tone is so exuberant it short circuits Artemis's brain for a bit. Because, like, it's not. It's not interesting at all. He's coming across as a complete overeager dweeb again and it's like he senses it too, because he's trying to rein it back in.

"Sooo," he says in a new nonchalant voice, "are you gonna be going with Dick to Nicolo's Deli? Some of us are meeting up there for dinner."

"I have plans."

He busies himself with placing the plastic containers into the fridge. "Oh, that's cool. Uh, maybe after that, though, if you're down we can—"

"Wally," Artemis interrupts, because she knows where this is going. "About that night together. It was a lot of fun, really. But I feel like I need to tell you that it was a one time thing. I hope you get that it's nothing personal."

Wally closes the fridge door. "I understand," he says, a bit deflated, but he gives her a light smile, one with so much sincerity it actually throws her off guard.

And it feels like a power move too, because even though there's no reason for it, a pang of guilt suddenly strikes Artemis—much to her annoyance—and she feels compelled to add, "For the record, though, I think you're really good in bed."

She watches as his face lights up and his posture straightens. "Wait. Really?"

Artemis can't help but smile and shrugs. "Yeah, you know, like top 3."

Wally folds the eco bag against his stomach, looking completely pleased with himself. The kid's a dweeb, yeah, but he's freaking adorable. And Artemis is quickly realizing that she seems to have a thing for not only green eyes, but freckles too.

When Wally finally leaves, Artemis closes the door behind him, and looks back to Dick's room.

She feels a little bad.

…

…

She feels a little badass.

She gets that all she's done is guess a password of a friend she knows like the back of her hand, so it's not like it's the most ambitious of hacker skills, but when she swipes a leather jacket from Dick's closet and puts it over her hoodie, she feels like all she needs is a pair of sunglasses and a stick of gum to chew on before being recruited into someone's Ocean's 8.

She pushes the dual doors of Jump City Prison open like she's Aragorn, but immediately regrets it when she sees Dick manning the front desk, laughing with another intern, and she sidesteps behind a wall before he gets the chance to spot her. Peering over, she watches silently as Dick takes his phone out and taps into the screen.

Her own phone vibrates in her hoodie. A text from Dick: _Hey. About to leave for Nicolo's. You sure?_

Artemis shoots a reply: _Already at dinner with my team._

She looks back to Dick reading her message as he pulls on his jacket and messenger bag. The phone gets tucked back into his pocket and he fingerguns the other intern (oh my god, Grayson) before walking around the desk and out of the building.

When the coast is clear, Artemis approaches her.

"Hello." Says the intern, a bit monotonously.

"Is it still visiting hours?"

"It is. But we go by appointment for the evening hours and it has to be made a week in advance. Is your name on the list?"

"Yeah. Artemis Crock."

"Let me check the system."

Sure enough, Artemis's sneaky work pays off when she sees her name flash on the screen. And all that's left to do is drop her driver's license on the counter and sign her name on a few dotted lines, and she suddenly finds herself sitting behind a pane of thick glass, a phone pressed to her ear, waiting for her father to approach from the other side.

 _Easy,_ Artemis tells herself when she feels her heart racing. _Stick to your questions. Keep a straight face. And get out._ She inhales through her nose like she's smelling flowers, and she exhales through her mouth like she's blowing out a candle, the same way she was taught by the child therapist the year she entered foster care. She slowly builds herself a precarious tower of composure, until the door on the other side of the glass clicks open.

He's skinnier, and the silver streak is now a whole head of grey hair, but it doesn't matter. All of a sudden Artemis is eight years old again, hiding behind a curtain, with both of her hands pressed to her mouth to keep herself from breathing too loudly.

_"Sweetheart? Where did you go?"_

_Artemis quietly slid into a crouch and swallowed the whimpers climbing up her throat. She pressed her forehead to her knees and closed her eyes, imagining she was safe as a bird on top of a mountain, far from the calloused hands and hungry eyes of the men who'd frequented her father's office._

_"Is this a joke, Lawrence? Deal's not on the table unless you hold up your end."_

_"Relax, Prosser. This always happens. My girl is a good girl. Aren't you, Artemis?"_

_There was no point calling Mother anymore; she had stopped putting up a fight the night Father pressed the shotgun to her head. Somewhere in the other room was her mom, probably sitting in her favorite chair with jaded eyes and a cigarette between her lips, pouring herself another glass of gin._

_Artemis let out a squeal when a hand ripped the curtain aside. A cold, familiar feeling washed all throughout her body._

_L_ awrence Crock, dressed in orange prison slacks and a white shirt, smiles down on her as he takes a seat. He grabs the phone and speaks. "My little goddess."

_"My little goddess. Please meet one of Daddy's friends."_

Whatever measly tower of composure she had built comes crashing down. But before she can slam her hands against the glass and scream bloody murder off the top of her lungs, someone grabs her arm and pulls her off the seat and out of the room.

"Turns out I don't want the number to that cute redhead on your squad after all," says Grayson, the anger in his voice barely restraint. "Saw her at Nicolo's. She seems like an airhead, she didn't even know that there was a dinner going on with your whole team tonight."

Dick Grayson brings her in front of him and pushes her past the desk and towards the entrance. The intern stands up in alarm. "Dick?"

"Rachel, meet Artemis, my friend from Gotham I was telling you about. Arty, meet Rachel Roth. Good? Good. _God_ , we are having _so_ much fun."

He pushes her out the door.

…

…

They're in the car now, and Dick has both hands on the wheel in some sort of death grip while they both try to yell over each other as he flies down Happy Harbor Ave.

"Jade is missing, Dick. She just picked up all her shit and left one day. And I know you said to throw away any letter from him but he wrote that he—

"You _read_ his letters?!"

"—he said he might know where she is! But he'll only give me the information if I visit him."

"Artemis," he says, in disbelief, eyes fixed on the road. "That _reeks_ of manipulation. Anything he'd say to you, he'd be lying. You know that, right? He probably has no clue where Jade is."

"I think she contacted him. We were billed for a phone call from JC Prison the night she left."

"I'm getting the sense your sister just doesn't wanna be found. And fuck! _Again_ with the letters. I fucking told you with the letters that they go straight to the trash!"

Artemis pauses. "You know what, Dick? That's _your_ problem. Just because you tell me what to do doesn't mean it's the be all end all. You don't have authority over my decisions!"

"Am I the only one who remembers what he did to you? You do know that Babs would have a shitshow, right? Like I should call her up right now. It's probably the miracle that will get her out of that wheelchair since she'll come running over to pummel you into the ground, because you sound insane."

"I called my mom and she said—"

"You're talking with your Mom now too? When the fuck was I supposed to know all this!? What's with this fucked up family reunion thing you're trying to wrangle up all of a sudden?"

"Jesus, Dick, just say that you hate my whole family!"

The car swerves to a stop on a random block. He shifts the gear into park.

"Fine. I fucking hate them. Let's make that clear. I hate your whole family, Arty. Your Dad can go to hell, and so can your mom, and so can your sister—"

"— _Take that back_ —"

"—because none of them got their shit together when you needed them the most. And when they did, they _still_ didn't come back for you. Get that through your thick skull, Arty. I'm sorry I'm not all choked up to hear that they're gone from your life, but that's because I think they're conniving and psychotic and selfish and I have no fucking clue how you came out of that family so unlike the rest of them, but I won't let you slide under his power again."

Artemis's blood is singing to deck him in the face. "Who the fuck are _you_? You're not my brother! You don't get to give me the go ahead of when it's okay and not okay to see my family. You don't know Jade, or what she's been through! You're not the one who had to live under my father's roof, okay?"

"Maybe not, but I'm also not the one who left you with your dad when shit hit the fan. I will _never_ forgive her for that. I'm glad she's gone. I hope she's facedown in a gutter somewh—"

Artemis punches him in the face and gets out of the car, storming down a sidewalk.

"Fuck! Artemis, get back here!"

She slips into an ally and starts running.

…

…

Artemis sits on the stoop, the hood drawn up and the sleeves of Dick's jacket pulled over to the very tips of her fingers, because despite a California breeze in the day, February nights still chill her to the bone. She's watching numbly as the screen of her phone flashes notification after notification of Dick's messages, while she gives the decision she's about to make a second thought.

But the decision seems to be made for her, because the door of the apartment complex buzzes open and out onto the stoop steps a pair of orange sneakers.

He's in shorts and a new JU crewneck, and he squints his eyes into the darkness before shifting his headphones away from an ear. "Artemis?"

"Sorry, were you on your way out?"

"Yeah. I was just about to… Artemis are you alright?"

…

…

And that's all it takes. She's back in this guy's room, and his fingers find his way between her legs and she realizes that she's going to spend another night of her life screwing a guy she doesn't really know just to keep the pain away. It makes her feel like she'll never climb out of the trench that was dug for her all those years ago, and the bleakness is smothering.

Wally moves to kiss her cheek—a gesture a little too personal for her liking—but recoils, and when Artemis opens her eyes, she finds him sitting back on his heels, staring.

"What?"

He brings a hand over, and swipes a thumb across her face. "You're crying," he says quietly.

Artemis is mortified. She wipes the tears away, muttering a _sorry_ as he falls back beside her. He's breathing raggedly and he presses his lower half to the mattress; she knows how frustrated his body must feel right now.

Trying not to appear like a charity case, she reaches over to slide her hand into his boxers, but he stops her.

"It's okay, Artemis. I'm okay."

Artemis lies back. She stares at the shadows of the ceiling, wondering how much time she'll let pass before she climbs out of his bed.

"Just stay," he says.

Artemis doesn't like sleeping in the same bed with guys when sex isn't on the table, because that's a form of vulnerability she doesn't like to embrace. But stepping out of this bed means stepping into a reality she doesn't have the strength to confront at the moment, and there's something about this guy—red hair and freckles and innocent green eyes and someone who seems to care about Dick just as much as she does—that keeps her from moving. And soon she sleeps.

…

…

The next morning, Artemis feels a hand brush some hair away from her face, and she's barely awake when Wally—with the warmth of his breath over her ears—whispers, "Artemis, if I made you breakfast, would you eat?"

"Yes."

…

…

* * *

 **A/N:** "Jason and the Words That Burn" is now a completed story. So now I can safely give a timeline. This takes place six months after "Words That Burn," and within that time Grayson's made it known to everyone and their mothers and their grannies that he once got shot in the head.

I also wrote a oneshot in the _Stories of Justice University_ series about how Dick first met Kory if you're interested, called "she is stronger than she looks."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of **sexual assault** and **self-harm**

* * *

...

...

Artemis Crock is horrified beyond comprehension to discover that she loves morning sex.

She’s never allowed it for herself before, mainly because she thought she wasn’t missing out on anything, and because the polite goodbye stuff was already like pulling teeth and the idea of adding more time to that countdown didn’t seem like the ideal way to start her day. But now she's realizing that there’s something about the grogginess of it, the blithe laziness of it, of the way her body responds to his without any polished orb of thought. Nothing performative or expecting, just her muscles flexing and extending in a bit of euphoria, and the sinewy feel of his lean body against hers. She thinks that this could complicate things for the future, that maybe she’s taking the first step down a steep, slippery slope. But then Wally rolls his hips in a certain way and a fiery blankness washes over her, and she’s not really thinking about anything anymore.  
  
He collapses onto her when it's over, and Artemis is taken aback with how much she enjoys the weight and warmth of him. She likes his heavy breaths hot on her shoulder. And his corded muscles, shifting under pale, freckled skin. She _loves_ how endearingly red he is after, with the blush reaching all the way to his ears.  
  
“I thought you wanted breakfast,” he murmurs into her neck.

“This is breakfast,” Artemis says, catching her breath, and she likes the way he laughs.

Wally ends up whipping something together for her anyway, and he’s breaking some eggs into the pan while Artemis lifts herself up onto the counter to sprinkle the shredded cheese and watch him whisk everything into something homogenous. She’s no good with the morning-after talk, but thankfully, and surprising no one at all, Wally West happens to be a bit of an oversharer. 

She manages to get away with asking one question about his major before unlocking multiple Trademark Wallace Rudolph West Stories, ranging from road tripping adventures with his favorite Uncle Barry and the annual ice fishing trip with his dad and male cousins and his love for Ghost Pepper potato chips and the fact that he had won the national science fair three years running back in high school.

“So you’re a STEM student,” Artemis says, taking the fork that Wally is offering her.

Wally eats his share out of the pan. “Forensic science.”

“ _Super_ sexy.”

“Oh yeah,” he says dryly. “Formaldehyde reeking off my clothes. Cutting into random body parts and smearing different bodily fluids onto glass slides for eight hours. Once ladies hear about how I spend my day, I can barely keep them off me.”

“I might be serious, West. Our generation grew up watching one vampire or zombie movie after another. That plus Law and Order: SVU plaguing our childhood, we’ve all developed a thing for the undead and it works in your favor.” She stabs into another clump of eggs. “I bet you do great with the ladies.”

“The right ones, yeah.”  
  
Artemis looks up from her plate to regard him, now suspicious, but Wally West is already shoving eggs into his mouth. For someone who really comes across as a pushover, he knows the right quips to catch her attention. She recalls his A+ line at the bar that won her over. Wonders if this is the play: act all awkward and unsure while letting the freckles and green eyes and the 6-foot-something do the work for him. Artemis is beginning to think she’s labelled him incorrectly. Maybe he’s more of a seasoned flirt than he lets on. After all, he’s in Dick Grayson’s circle, isn’t he?

She tries to clear her head, and nods to the counter. “What’s going on over there?”

Wally looks back to see. “That’s for a friend.”

“10 bags of marshmallows are for a friend?”

“It’s a ‘Welcome Home’ kind of thing.”

Wally refuses for her to touch the dishes, so she’s back in his room, changing into a clean track shirt he insists she takes, relegating it to “something I got for free at a home game.” Artemis spots a sticky note stack and a pen and scribbles an, _I’m sorry for punching you in the face_ message _,_ before stuffing it into Grayson’s jacket pocket. 

Artemis declines the offer to shower at his place again, but when she goes to the bathroom, she sees the same green toothbrush she used on the first night, and smiles. _Oh god, Wally West._

Artemis turns her head, surprised, to see a third toothbrush as well.

…

…  
  


Wally gives her a damn good smile at the stoop. He’s still in his pajamas. 

“Thanks for giving the jacket to Grayson.”  
  
Wally leans back against the railing. “You two okay?”   
  
Artemis mirrors his stance on the opposite side, not sure why she has the temptation to just word-vomit everything about what happened between her and Dick last night.

“I don’t know. And sorry for coming to you and... being a mess last night.”  
  
Wally flips the key around his finger. “Don’t apologize, I loved it.” But his eyes widen, and amends quickly. “Uh-not, you being a mess, I didn’t like that. I mean I don’t NOT like that! I liked… I mean I _didn’t_ like-”

“You’re drowning.”

“Ah, yeah, yes I am.” He shakes his head “Damn. I was so close to being cool from start to finish.”

“Don’t worry. Breakfast helped. It was impressive.”  
  
“Impressive?”

Giddiness over a guy is not a feeling she’s used to the morning after. She wonders if she’s blushing. “Maybe. Maybe I’m impressed.”

Wally crosses his arms and tilts his head in thought. “Huh. And on a scale of a 10 digit number, how impressed are you?”

And that’s how Wally West ends up doing the impossible. Her gets her number.

…

…

Artemis enters her hotel room just as Simms steps out of the shower, clad in a robe and her hair twisted up into a towel. Simms greets Artemis with a cat-call whistle and a very suggestive, “ _There_ she is.”

“What the hell is this?” Artemis points at the vase of flowers sitting on the desk.

Simms pulls the towel out of her hair and starts combing. “What? I thought you’d know. It has your name on it.”

Sure enough, Artemis sees a tiny envelope wedged between two stems, her name written in a careful, _familiar,_ handwriting. She tears it open.  
  


_Black-eyed-susans, because that’s what you got me looking like now._

_p.s. I’m sorry I’m an ass. I take back what I said about Jade._

“Damn,” Simms comments from her bed. “You’re cheesin’ mad hard, Crock. Girl or guy this time?”

Artemis shakes her head, still smiling. “It’s from a friend.”

“You mean you’ve got a friend giving you flowers _and_ you’ve had two one-night stands? You wondrous bitch.”

Artemis looks back at Simms, quiet. “Two-night stand,” she corrects.

Simms goes quiet too. “Holy shit. That’s new.”

“Yeah.”

“Meanwhile, Jules and Rhea and I have been to the club twice, and no bite. Ugh,” Simms plops face down on her bed dramatically “Crock, teach me your ways. I’m tired of not taking advantage of Jump.” 

Artemis flips the back of the card and reads some interesting information. “How about a bonfire?”

Simms perks up from the bed. “Yessssssss. You promise?”

Artemis nods her head, laughing, when her cell rings. She answers.

“Arty, you absolute numbskull. Guess who was up all night consoling a weepy Dick Grayson.”

Barbara Gordon. Dick wasn’t lying about snitching. Turns out he’s willing to play dirty.   
  
Artemis tucks the card back between the stems of the flowers and jumps onto her bed, gathering the pillows to her to prop her up. “He was _not_ weepy.”

“He WEEPED. It was cringey. All nasally-sounding too. You made his nose bleed.”

“Did you record it?”  
  
“Oh, funny, funny, Crock. You crack any of those jokes to your father?”

An exhale. “Babs--”

“Meanwhile I’m getting my ear talked off because Grayson’s _doubly_ offended that you didn’t mention Jade’s been missing for almost a year… AND YOU’VE BEEN READING HIS LETTERS? You promised us, Arty!”  
  
Artemis imagines Babs at the library, scolding patrons about overdue books or damaged DVDs. Simms pretends she’s not listening, but the frequent glances do a piss poor job at hiding the concern. Artemis mumbles, “You said to keep it on the down-low.” 

“Yeah, down-low! Down-low has always meant between us! The trio!”  
  
“Okay, well. ‘Between us’ sounds like it can mean many things.”

Artemis knows she’s fucked up because what comes after is a pause, and not just any pause. A Barbara Gordon Pause. An audible calm before the storm. 

  
“ _Oh_. So we’re talking semantics now, are we? Let me be excruciatingly clear to you, then. Ever since the break up, Grayson and I have been deliberately keeping a healthy distance from each other, and that’s the understatement of the decade. Because between Dick and I, we’ve got the whole country covered from coast to coast and imagine my surprise when he calls to tell me about you sneaking off to see Lawrence. You’re getting secretive, arty. And you’re trying to play dumb when you’re far from dumb and we don’t appreciate it at all.

Simms has given up on pretending she’s not listening, and she’s looking at Artemis with an expression that says REST IN PEACE because speakerphone has nothing on Babs when she’s on a verbal rampage. 

“I never told Dick because he’s always hated Jade and I didn’t want to give him another reason to hate her even more. “

There’s an angry sigh from the other end, and Babs switches her tone into something more gentle. “Dick just... doesn’t understand her actions. And he doesn’t want you hurt again. Honestly, babe. What were you thinking?

“I was thinking she’s been gone for almost a year and if I finally have a lead, I’m gonna take it.”

“Your dad’s not a lead. He’s a lying piece of shit.”  
  
“You _sound_ like Grayson.”

“I sound like any reasonable person after hearing the shit your family’s put you through, Arty.”

“So what’s this phone call about? Are you calling me to keep me away from my dad or are you calling me to make up with Grayson?”  
  
“I’m calling you to make up with Grayson so that he can keep you away from your dad.” There’s more silence. And then, “Heard you gave him a shiner.”

“Proud?”

Artemis can hear the smile. 

Between Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson is a jagged past teeming with abandoned emotions. Artemis wishes she appreciated their honeymoon era back then. They claim they function best as “divorced parents,” with a lot of distance between them. But she can see that Babs and Dick still work together perfectly like the dynamic duo they’ve always been. If it took punching Dick Grayson square in the face for their little reunion to happen, all the better. 

…

…

Back at the gymnasium, Artemis knocks the arrow and draws, eyes fixed on the target. “That is so not annoying right now,” she murmurs dryly, feeling the stare of one of her teammates.

Noor’s eyes latch on in silence, until Artemis releases the arrow and makes a nearly perfect bulls-eye. Noor shakes her head, self-convinced. “There’s gotta be a secret.”

“She probably imagines her enemies lined up at the other end,” someone suggests.

Artemis silently shoots another arrow and lets the girls conspire against each other.

…

...

_It stuck to the very center of the target.  
_

_Artemis sat restlessly in the giant leather armchair of their family’s billiards room, a new addition to the Crock House finished just in time for her birthday party earlier that day. She was nine now, and she prodded the new number in her mouth like a hard candy with an indiscernible flavor, unsure of what made her any different from the evening before and the evening now. Her legs dangled off the seat as she thought, and watched Jade walk back towards the wall, where a handful of darts crowded the center of the target like petals of a dahlia. “You’re so good at that.”  
_

_Her sister pulled the darts off the board and bundled them all together without a word, visibly annoyed.  
_

_Jade had recently jumped into the brave new world of makeup and hair products ever since she started middle school. She looked beautiful with her hair curled and her lips colored plum and her eyes lined with black, but Artemis knew better than to mention any of that. If Artemis was wiser, she wouldn’t mention anything at all to Jade. Her older sister wasn’t one for conversation; she gave off a very blatant do-not-talk-to-me look at every hour of the day.  
_

_But Artemis wasn’t wiser. She was lonely and bored and desperately craving for her sister to be a sister, so despite her better judgement, Artemis tried again. She nervously bunched up her party dress into little dunes on her lap and said nonchalantly, “I didn’t know we could put lavender in a cake. But I liked it.”  
_

_“It smelled fucking awful.”  
_

_And there Artemis was again: that uncomfortable place she’d always fall into whenever trying to start a conversation with her sister. Jade was right, however. Hours ago, when all her classmates surrounded her at the table and Artemis posed for the camera, mid-slice of the lavender cake, it reeked of something akin to cheap perfume. That’s what happened whenever Mom took care of anything these days. Mom was all about too much or too little to Artemis. Too much lavender in the batter. Too little answers offered to Artemis’s cloying questions. Too much gin. Too little intervention whenever Dad invited over a new “friend.”  
_

_In her hands was her favorite piece from the ceramic garden party set she had unwrapped earlier that day: a cup with silver painted birds on the inside. “We can have a tea party together before bed.”  
_

_Another dart thudded into the target. “No.”  
_

_Artemis shifted in her seat. “Well.” More shifting. “Maybe we'll use this for your birthday party. My gift for you will be that I let you borrow my new tea set. But you have to invite me, okay?”_

_Jade stopped mid throw and looked at Artemis. “You wanna know what I really want from you for my birthday? As my gift?”  
_

_“Yes.”  
_

_“I want you to go and kill yourself.”  
_

_Artemis felt a familiar rock form in her throat again. “That’s not funny, Jade.”_

_“Am I laughing, Arty? I’m serious. Just kill yourself by then and I promise I’ll have the best birthday ever.”_

_Artemis kept her face impassive and blinked away her tears. She found a single thread of her party dress at the edge, and began to pull at it. “I’ll tell Mom you said that,” Artemis threatened quietly, with absolutely no heat behind it._

_Jade had gone back to throwing more darts with greater gusto. “Tell her. She’s not going to do anything and you know that. Mom stopped caring about you a long time ago, Arty. You're nothing to her now. You’re a fucking waste of a life.”  
_

_“Dad says I’m very important to our family.”  
_

_Jade seemed to wince at her words, and when the dart went flying, it missed the center completely. “God, you're an idiot. I wish you were dead. You’re better off dead, you little shit.”  
_

_Jade muttered it over an over after every energetic throw. “You’re better off dead.” A thud. “You’re better off dead.” Thud. “You’re better off dead.”  
_

_And for some odd reason, it sounded more like a prayer. “Why are you crying?”  
_

_“Because you won’t fucking die.”  
_

_Artemis kept pulling at the string and let the hem of her dress unravel itself into ugly frays. “You’re not a nice sister. You don’t want to sit with me on the bus. You never talk to me at school. You don’t have nice things to say to me, ever. I wish I had Charlotte’s sister. Charlotte and her sister watch movies together and she braids Charlotte's hair and teaches her how to rollerblade. You don’t teach me anything.”  
_

_The doorbell reverberated through the whole manor and visibly spooked the both of them.  
_

_Jade’s voice turned urgent. “You want me to teach you something, you little shit? Let me teach you how to slit your fucking wrist.”  
_

_Before Artemis could say anything in protest, Jade made her way to the chair and hovered over her, yanking her arm with so much ferocity it made Artemis drop her teacup onto the floor, effectively shattering it into little pieces.  
_

_"JADE!"  
_

_But Jade didn't care. She turned Artemis's arm over with a crazed sense of zealousness and traced a horizontal line across her wrist. "Stop crying, Arty. Like this. Make it bloody, okay?"  
_

_"I HATE YOU!"  
_

_"Slit your fucking wrist, Arty. Bloody, okay? Promise me."_

_Heavy footsteps were approaching from down the hall that made Artemis turn her head, but Jade’s hand cupped her chin and wrenched her back to meet sharp, knowing eyes._

_A dart was pushed into her hands.  
_

_"Promise me."  
_

_"Sweetheart."  
_

_Standing at the door was their father, a thick envelope tucked under his arm and a smile plastered on his face, standing at the door with a man._

_My friend drove by to drop off his birthday gift for you. Isn’t that kind of him? Come and say thank you to Frank, Artemis.  
_

_Artemis felt Jade's eyes on her as she slid down from the giant armchair and walked over. The man knelt down and handed her the box with an easy smile. "Hello, Artemis. I bought you something very pretty. I hope it fits you. Would you like to open it?"  
_

_She didn’t. But Artemis knew that things got worse when she didn’t comply. She pulled the lid off of the box: angel wings, embroidered with silver and gold beads.  
_

_“How precious,” her father commented, although a bit disinterestedly. “Why don’t you try it on upstairs, Artemis? To see if it fits you.”  
_

_“We were gonna have a tea party before bed,” Jade interjected, but said nothing else when Dad gave her a mild look._

_…_

_…_

_Artemis imagined she was a bird on top of a mountain, safe from the hands of men like Frank Grant, as she sat on her bed and slipped the elastics over each arm, swallowing hard as he sat near her, staring, smiling a too-wide smile.  
_

_“It’s custom made, Artemis. The beads are from Nepal. An expensive gift for a very expensive girl.”_ _  
_

_Artemis said nothing. She was a bird on top of a mountain._

_“Can you say, ‘Thank you, Frank?’”_

_“Thank you, Frank.”_

_“Say, ‘Only for you, Frank.’”_

_Artemis hesitated, and watched in horror as his face morphed into a smile so unnatural she wanted to vomit. “Only for you, Frank.”_

_He worked quickly, shifting her up the bed and kissing her collarbone, and Artemis would have continued to be a bird on top of a mountain, except that Jade asked her to promise something and Jade didn’t ask Artemis for anything. Artemis pulled out the dart from the pocket of her party dress, and then it all happened very quickly. The act of the cut was a sloppy sensation. A cold rush of endorphins. Something warm and sticky running down her arm and pooling over his shoulder blades and neck, and then the panicked screams of a man._

_She looked absolutely feral coming out of the hospital. A party dress frayed to utter ruin and delicate angel wings with a kinked frame and so much blood coating her chest that she had needed a transfusion. Her mother had laid down a towel before all four of them stepped into the car._

_“I told you not to keep darts in your pocket, you little shit.”_

_“Jade.” A mild, distant rebuke from their mother. “Don’t call her that.”_

_Their father turned sharply into the highway, drilling looks into Artemis through the rearview mirror, while Jade secretly reached her hand out in the darkness of the car to hold Artemis’s hand._

_When they reached home, Jade pulled Arty into the bathroom that connected both of their bedrooms, and turned on the shower before letting Artemis sit on the edge. She yanked off the angel wings, stomping on them until the threads snapped and the beads went scattering along the tile floor._

_“It was expensive,” Artemis reports dully._

_“It’s disgusting,” Jade answers. She loads a wet face towel with soap, and begins cleaning up the dried blood on Artemis’s collarbone._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Close your eyes. Don’t open until I say so.”_

…

...

When it’s over, Artemis is the last person still in the shower of the JU locker room. She lets the water run as she traces the pearly white line running jaggedly across her wrist. It’s barely there now, thanks to years of retinol cream application and a very _extra_ endeavor of laser treatments, paid for by Oliver Queen. It means there are less people to notice it and ask questions. Artemis likes to fall back on the dart-in-her-pocket excuse Jade had generously given her as a child, and most people are grateful for the lie, because then they don’t have to hear a sad story. But Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon once came into her life and evaded her logic, because they weren’t afraid of sad stories. Were connoisseurs of sad stories themselves. 

Jade had always been an enigma. It had taken Artemis years of therapy sessions to decode Jade’s fucked up language of love, and even more years to forgive her, because one day, Artemis realized that even though Jade had never sat next to Artemis on the bus, she refused to let anyone sit with Artemis either, with her warped sense of protection. And Jade didn’t teach her how to braid hair or rollerblade, but she taught her the only thing that was important at the time when growing under Lawrence Crock’s house. She taught Artemis how to survive. 

_Where the fuck are you, Jade._

When Artemis thinks she’s finally drained out all of Jump City’s reservoir supply, she twists the dial off and turns around to see that her shirt is no longer hanging off the hook. Instead, a miserable clump of wet cotton is on the shower floor, soaking up water like a miserable little sponge.

“Ah, fuck.”

A blue and yellow tank-top suddenly drapes over the door of her shower stall. “I saw it happen when I walked in. I’ve learned that lesson many times.”  
  
“Uh.”   
  
“Don’t worry. This is new.”

Whoever is speaking has the musical cadence and careful articulation of someone with an accent from a place Artemis can’t place at the moment. “Are you sure?”

“It is a spare. You are free to keep it, if you like the fit.”

Artemis takes the tank top, getting a little freaked out by the generosity of Justice students. She’s gaining a modest collection of JU merchandise accrued from ridiculously kind strangers. She wants to laugh. “Do students here get their stuff for free or something?” Artemis jokes, despite it being an actual question in her head. 

“I do,” answers the girl on the other side of the stall, and doesn’t bother explaining. “Are you not from here?”

“I’m with the Gotham Archers.”

“Oh! I believe you’ve been murdering us this weekend,” the voice giggles.

Artemis pulls the tank top on. It’s made with dry-fit material and there’s a golden patch of the university’s insignia stitched on to the chest. A shirt of this quality has no business being given away for free. “Haha, yeah. I’m the co-captain. My name is Artemis Crock if you’re interested in looking up my numbers on the board.” 

There’s a pause on the other side of the stall. “Your name is Artemis and you’re an archer?” The voice asks, seemingly bewildered. 

Artemis gets to unlocking her stall door and pushing it open to get face-to-face with the generous stranger. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s purely coincidental, I promise you. But my teammates have this conspiracy that--”  
  
“Arty, wait!”

Artemis steps out of the stall mid-sentence, painfully unprepared for who she’s finally meeting. 

Artemis never did get a good look at the pictures taped around Dick’s desk, but he’s managed to get away with sending her a few texts with photos of her in the past. Artemis only gave them a sideways glance before deleting the threads entirely. But a sideways glance is all it takes to get the gist of Dick’s new girlfriend. Grayson can go on with a sermon about how beautiful she is, and Kory Anders, unbelievably, lives up to the hype.   
  
It’s that intimidating sort of beauty, with wild waves of fiery red hair and bronze skin and long, lean lines and a symmetrical set to her face. It’s unfair, really, almost threatening. Kory Anders can have anyone she wants, and she _chooses_ to steal Dick Grayson straight out of his relationship with Artemis’s best friend. 

_Do students here get their stuff for free or something?_

_I do._ _  
_ _  
_ That kind of beauty.

Kory tries, “Artemis, I—”

Artemis wordlessly pulls the shirt off, hands it back to her, and walks off in leggings and her sports bra. Right outside the locker room is Simms waiting by the drinking fountains, refilling her water bottle. “Crock, the Pacific Ocean called and they want their water back-- holy crap.”   
  
“Do you have an extra top?” Artemis asks, stone-faced. 

“No. I have a zip up hoodie, I guess?” 

“Can I wear it?” 

On the way back to the hotel, Arty wonders whether it’s worth it to make it to the bonfire. Doesn’t like the prospects of running into Kory again. 

But she promised Simms. And she’s interested in seeing Dick Grayson’s black eye. Wants to be there to take the credit. 

…

…

**Author's Note:**

> Artemis/Dick is my favorite brOTP in Young Justice. Their dynamic is funny and sexy and full of trust. I like that they can be both relentlessly flirtatious and command respect. They're quippy, confident, and super objective-driven. Then throw Wally West in and they have to share his time and affection like piranhas.
> 
> Again, this takes place in the same universe as "Words That Burn," so I'm not disclosing a timeline yet since I don't want to spoil anything in either stories.
> 
> Please leave a kudos and comment if you like! And thanks again to Exaggerated Memories (Zabrena) for inspiring and encouraging me to try something new.


End file.
